


Pretty Good Year

by Danagirl623



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, John "Three Continents" Watson, Longing, M/M, One Night Stands, One Shot, Post-Case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22536424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danagirl623/pseuds/Danagirl623
Summary: John Watson waits for Sherlock Holmes to return.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15





	Pretty Good Year

**Wrapped in the thick Bellstaff, John felt safe for the first time in nearly two years. John leaned into the collar and breathed deeply. The coat smelled of tobacco, wool, and…. Something else. A scent so** **_familiar_ ** **that it made his heart ache. John suppressed a sob as a chill came over him.**

**A swish of the Bellstaff flashed in front of his face, and John made a grab for it. He grabbed a fistfull of fog and stared at his hands. A dark figure dashed away without a single look backwards.**

**“Sherlock!” he felt himself shout, hoping it would draw the dark figure’s attention. It had disappeared.**

  
  


John gasped as his eyes flew open. In the dim light of the room, his eyes struggled to adjust. In a moment, he could see the ceiling tiles well enough to count them. 

_One. Two. Three… There is always forty two tiles up there. Why do I torture myself?_

Every night since _The Jump_ John counted them. Sometimes it was to ground himself after a nightmare and other times it was to slow his racing mind. 

_Fresh tobacco and thick wool… I felt them under my fingers._

John reached over to feel if it really was a dream. There was a warm, hard body near him. The heat they were throwing off was stifling. 

_It was just a dream._ John reminded himself, pulling his arm back over to himself. _He was wearing it… When he jumped._

John rubbed his face and rolled over into the warm body next to him. He turned his face away to stifle a sob in his pillow. 

_It’s not him. It never was him._

Automatically, their arms wrapped around him, and he felt hot breath on his neck. 

John bit the pillow in an attempt not to sob audibly. The arms tightened their grip. “Hey,” a deep voice greeted him kindly. “It’s ok. It was just a nightmare.” 

“I realize that now,” John managed to say in a thick voice. “Ta.”

“Would you like me to hold you?”

John forced his voice to sound normal. “No, I’m fine.” 

“Are you sure? I can wait to pee-”

“Go,” John said, giving a gentle nudge with his shoulder. The man unwrapped himself from John, and seemed to hesitate a moment. “I’m a big boy, really. I’m ok.” A light kiss was placed on John’s head, and then he was alone. 

John took a deep breath, and fumbled for his phone. He blearily logged in, trying to even his breathing out. There were two text messages. 

_John, be safe. I’ll see you Monday. GL_

_If you get this before noon, give me a call? Sally and I have a bet. GL_

There was also a missed call that said, _Arsehole DO NOT ANSWER._ John cleared his screen, threw his phone down. He heard the toilet flush, so he made a grab for his pj bottoms. He pulled them on, and leaned back against the headboard. 

“I don’t have to stay,” the man was saying, as he walked into the room. “I’d love to make you breakfast. I make killer pancakes-”

“You don’t have to make me breakfast. Mrs. H loves to feed me. Something about I’m too thin.”

The man laughed, and joined John on the bed. “You are gorgeous.”

“Ta, love,” John said, forcing a smile. “You are no slouch either.”

“Please let me cook for you.”

“You don’t have too,” John smiled politely. “When is your flight?”

The man grinned, and made a grab for his shirt. “You’re right, yeah. I should probably get back to the hotel. My team will be looking for me.”

“Why don’t you give me a mo’ and I’ll walk you to your hotel?”

“You don’t have too.”

“I want to.”

The other man smiled and nodded his head before he stepped out of the room. John’s phone was ringing, and he sent the call to voicemail. John quickly changed out of his pj’s and into a pair of trousers. He tucked his phone into his pocket with a shake of his head trying to ward off thoughts of his former roommate. 

For just a moment, he held the jumper to his chest, and breathed deeply. Under the wool, he could almost smell him. John shook his head, and pulled the jumper over his head. He grabbed a pair of socks from the drawer, and headed out to the living room. 

As he walked past his trainers, John snagged them on his way to his chair. John sat down, and started putting his socks on. 

“Do you smoke, by any chance?” John shook his head no. “I thought not. I could smell tobacco everywhere last night, now not so much.” 

“Roommate does,” John grunted as he pulled his shoelace too tight.

The man nodded, “Thank you for last night,” he said awkwardly as he flopped down on the couch. 

“You were amazing. I’m really glad that your…”

“Investigation.”  
  


“Was it really an investigation? I’m just saying you seemed to know more than you were telling.” 

The man’s smile stretched from cheek to cheek. “I’m clever.”

“No, I’m clever. You’re exceptional.”

“Ah,” the tall brunet started, but stopped when there was a sharp knock on the door. It squeaked open and soon a man dressed in a sharp suit entered the room. 

This man picked up his umbrella and pointed it to the brunet man on the couch. He made a motion with his umbrella showing him where he could go.

“Excuse me, I’m an invited guest. Who are you?” 

“The entirety of the British Government.”

“Oh, piss off, Mycroft,” John said dismissively. He tucked his laces into his trainers, and stood up. John walked over to the brunet and held his hand out to him. “Come on, dear.”

The man stood up, and took John’s hand. John walked him past Mycroft and down the seventeen steps to the street level. “I’m sorry about him. He’s my roommate’s brother. He loves to ruin lives.”

“I’m going to head out, John. I had an amazing evening with you.”

John nods his head to show agreement. “I really enjoyed my evening with you. It had been a long time since I bottomed-”

“Get out of here, you only mentioned it about seventeen times.” 

Both men laughed, then each of their phones went off. “Thanks for a great night, John.”

John stood up on his tip-toes and kissed the man’s cheek. “Next time I’m in Central City, I’ll look you up, Flash.” 

“Please do,” The tall lanky man said, taking a step away from John. “Bye.”

John pasted a bright smile on his face, and watched the man walk away. The further the man walked, the more his smile drooped. Finally after a solid five minutes of watching him leave, John turned to go back into the house.

“Oh, John!” Mrs. Hudson said, scoldingly. She was rushing down the stairs, waving a tea towel. “He’s such a hateful man. When is Sherlock coming back?”

“Sherlock’s dead, Mrs. Hudson!” John called, as she slammed her door. 

John shook his head, and went up the seventeen stairs to his flat. He took a deep breath, and came into the room. Mycroft was still waiting for his return. “I thought you’d leave. Why are you still here?”

“I simply asked Mrs. Hudson for tea.”

“You came _here_ to ask Mrs. Hudson to make you tea?” John kicked one of his trainers off, and then the other. He picked one up and stumped off to the kitchen. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and came back. He flopped down on his chair and put his trainer on the arm. He popped the beer open, and took a deep draught.

“No, I came here to tell you that you have twenty-four to forty-eight hours until he’s home and returned to his precious Baker Street.”

John picked up his trainer, and threw it at Mycroft’s immaculate suit. Mycroft squeaked in surprise. “That was uncivil.”

“You-” John’s nostrils flared and his fist clenched tightly. He held it squeezed tight for a moment, then opened it. “This is my flat, and I want you to leave.” 

“This flat is mine. I’ve kept you out of the arrears far too many times.” 

“I didn’t ask for your help. You feel guilty about killing your brother.”

“My brother is not dead. He’s been away,” Mycroft said flatly, and barely had time to duck from the flying beer bottle. Behind Mycroft, it shattered on the floor.

“Get out of here.”

Mycroft clucked his tongue in disappointment. “And “Three Continents” Watson, you are overdue for STI testing. I’d make that happen sooner rather than later. It wouldn’t do to have my brother come home from three years of hell to find out that his boyfriend is disease infested.” 

“Sherlock is dead,” John insisted, standing up. He clenched his fists in rage. “Go.” 

“He’ll be home soon, you should just be ready.” Mycroft stood up, and purposely left his umbrella behind as he walked down the steps. 

John stared at the retreating figure, and made a decision in an instant. He ran out of the flat, and down the stairs. His heart racing. He threw the door open, and paused to find his target, “Hey! If you’re going to retrieve him, I’m coming with you.” 

Mycroft smirked, “Did you bring my umbrella?”

“To hell with your umbrella, let’s go get Sherlock!” 

  
  
  


It wasn’t hours later, or even days later, that John and Sherlock were reunited. It was three weeks, five days, seven hours later, but John was there. He fought to free Sherlock, and as soon as they were to safety, John reacted the way you think he would. He tended to Sherlock’s wounds, then gave him a proper chewing out that ended with the two of them making out while professing their affections and apologizing at the same time. 


End file.
